


Research Specimen 14652

by Unforth



Category: Supernatural
Genre: 5+1 Things, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Bottom Castiel (Supernatural), But You Know With Tentacles, Consentacles, Creature Dean Winchester, Cupping, Enemies to Lovers, I swear it's actually mostly plot, Light Masochism, M/M, Multiple Tentacular Penetration, Mute Dean Winchester, Octopus Dean Winchester, Overstimulation, Scientist Castiel (Supernatural), Size Kink, This makes it sound this like this is 6k of porn, Unrealistic Sex, consensual sadomasochism, so don't get your hopes up too high for smut fest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-25
Updated: 2021-01-25
Packaged: 2021-03-18 01:00:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,590
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28983768
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Unforth/pseuds/Unforth
Summary: Or: "Cas' just a scientist, Dean's just an octopus, can I make it any more obvious?" sung to the tune of Sk8ter Boi.Or: five times Dean hurt Cas without consent, and one time Cas' consent was enthusiastic.Or: yetanotherfic unforth has no idea how to accurately tag.
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester
Comments: 16
Kudos: 132





	Research Specimen 14652

**Author's Note:**

  * For [shealynn88](https://archiveofourown.org/users/shealynn88/gifts).



> I don't even like 5+1 fics, what am I doing, twice in one week?
> 
> Also, to be clear, Dean is *literally* an octopus, not a half-octo. A sentient, very intelligent, damn horny octopus...but an octopus.
> 
> Unedited, cause it already took way longer than I really had time for, but once I had the idea I just couldn't let it go, so here we are. Like, seriously, I thought this would be 2500 words, this got *wildly* out of hand.

Water rushed through Dean’s gills, in and out, in and out, as he tried to make himself smaller, hide himself more, find safety somewhere - anywhere. There were humans in the reef. Why were there humans in the reef? If they saw him - if they  _ found  _ him - it would be a disaster. He’d swum his fastest to take refuge amidst the caves riddling the reef’s interior, and at first thought he’d made a clean escape...but no. The divers still explored. The boat’s hull still cast rippling shadows on the seafloor. The danger still remained - intensified as they drew closer…

_ Should I make a run for it? _

...closer…

_ Should I try to camouflage? _

...closer…

_ Should I-- _

Something snagged the end of one of Dean’s tentacles and he moved thoughtlessly, lashing out, trying to push everything away from himself. A wisp of pungent, coppery blood drifted by in the current, suggesting he’d struck something solidly, but the water around him was dark with shadows, murky with bubbles, aswirl with his tentacles, muddled by whatever he’d first felt. One of his limbs was caught--

_ Let me go! _

\--then another--

_ No, no, no - please no! _

\--another--

_ Have to escape, have to flee, have to...have to…! _

\--and no matter how Dean struggled he couldn’t win free. 

It was a net.

And Dean was most definitely netted.

As his captors dragged him through the water, he struggled for freedom - tearing at the threads, using all his skills in fine manipulation to try to disentangle himself, but all his efforts were futile. A monstrous masked face reared before him, threatening, and Dean derived mild satisfaction that the front plate of it was splattered with red droplets. 

The human lifted a long thin tube. They shoved it at Dean, evading his scrambling, bound tentacles, and pain pricked in his side when it touched him. He slapped the hand away, but it was too late - he had no idea what they’d done to him, but lethargy spread from the painful spot. His struggles weakened. His mind grew foggy. And the surface of the water drew nearer and nearer as the boat reeled in the net entangling him.

He hadn’t managed to free himself, but at least he’d not gone down without a fight.

* * *

“arentyouaninterestingcreaturecomputerlogthatimbeginningtheexaminationofresearchspecimenonefoursixfivetwo”

The human had a resounding voice that vibrated the water of Dean’s tank and made him tense with nerves whenever he heard it.

“sorrythismighthurtalittlebitbutitllbeoversoon”

Dean couldn’t understand him, but he listened closely anyway.

“Ithoughtyoumightlikesomeenrichmentmaterialssoibroughtashellcollection”

There was meaning in the sounds, and they often correlated to actions. Dean thought, if he paid close enough attention over a long enough period, he might yet find meaning in the sequences of noises. That they were pieced together intentionally - that the human was intelligent - was obvious.

“computerlogthatfoodofferingtwentythreehasalsobeenrefusedpleaseprojectherecipeforofferingtwentyfour”

That the human recognized that Dean was  _ also  _ intelligent was less obvious, and made him wary. His tank was decorated in such a paltry imitation of an actual coral reef that it wouldn’t have fooled a child. The food they offered him smelled so suspect that Dean didn’t dare consume it. If Dean made too much of a fuss, they pricked him again and he lost consciousness again, a threat of bodily harm always hanging over him. At one point, they rained shells over his head, and he still wasn’t sure why. He’d given them a perfunctory investigation...but they were just shells. The human had seemed briefly energized when Dean interacted with them, and languid when Dean lost interest, and he had no idea what either reaction meant. 

“youhavetoeatifyoudontyoulldieandillneverforgivemyself”

The human was a mystery. Every morning, they arrived, and with them came daylight. Throughout the day, they moved about the room outside Dean’s tank, fiddling with things, interacting with a brightly-lit object, sometimes using their hands and a tool to make marks on a surface, other times poking at a placard before the brightly-lit thing with a  _ tak, tak, tak _ sound. A lot of their time was spent interacting with Dean, or  _ attempting _ to interact with him - sticking hands in his tank, dumping food into the top to sift down to the pebbly bottom, fricken  _ throwing shells  _ at him, dosing him the sleeping concoction...

“anotherdayofnothingihopeicanfigureoutwhatyoulikesoonifnot”

...and then the human left, and between one instant and the next darkness fell and night came, and Dean pried and pushed at the limits of his cage in the hopes of finding an escape, always in dread of the moment when the next morning would arrive as suddenly as the previous day had ended.

“sometimeswhenyoulookatmeicouldswearyouretryingtofiguremeoutasdeterminedlyasimtryingtofigureyouout”

Dean hated his tank, and he hated the human, and he hated the food, and he hated being pricked, and he hated the seashells, and he hated that he was too weak to escape, and he hated,  _ hated _ , when the human talked.

“alrighttheotherswillgetmadeatmeforthisbutwhatifijustopenthetanktopandseewhathappens”

Clicks and jolts shifted the water, and then fresh air crowded the surface and a new, different light source shone down from above. 

After all Dean’s struggled...the human had just...opened the top.

_ What _ ?

A moment’s euphoria screamed  _ freedom  _ and Dean swam unthinking toward the top...and then he froze. The man was still standing there, lips spread to bear their teeth, eyes as blue and deceptively calm as the waters about a shoal.

_ This is a trap...another trap...damn them… _

Frustrated with the man for teasing him, at himself for actually falling for even for a moment, Dean sulked his way to the bottom of the tank, picked up six of the seashells, and drifted back upwards.

“hmmthisisnewwhatareyoudoingnow”

That infuriating voice was even  _ more  _ annoying without the lid of the tank to protect him. 

Dean reached a tentacle up, up, up, out of the water.

“areyouofferingmethatshelldoyouthinkiwantitback”

The human leaned in close...and Dean hurled the shell at their annoying, protruding proboscis. With a squawk that would have put a seagull to shame, the human leapt back, and Dean threw another shell, another, another, driving them back, raising welts on their skin.

“owstopitokayigetityoudontliketheshellsnomoreshellsmessagereceived”

This was Dean’s chance.

Scuttling out the top of tank, Dean hurled himself to the floor and rushed toward the room’s exit…

...and a net slammed down around him.

“wowyoureallyarecleverarentyoudidyouplanallthatsoyoucouldescapeillhavetobemorecarefulinthefuture”

And the human scooped Dean up, ignoring his struggles, carried him back to the tank and dropped him in with a splash. The lid slammed shut behind him, and Dean was, once again, trapped.

Fuck his life.

* * *

The human offered him a ball.

Dean slapped their hand.

The human held a disgusting dead shrimp over the tank (was that a threat?).

Dean slapped their hand.

The human tried to reach in with one of those pricky tubes.

Dean slapped their hand.

The human put a hand flat against the surface of the water and held it there, doing nothing else, nothing else, nothing else, just standing there…

...until Dean slapped their hand again.

“itsmeisntitthisisntaboutwhatimofferingthisisliketheshellsyourehittingmebecauseyouwanttohitmehowintriguing”

Each time Dean hit the human, they spoke, which was proving helpful, because there were sets of sounds that came up everytime. Like, when the human offered Dean an anemone made of some non-living materials that reeked…

...and Dean slapped them again…

...they said, “owwillyoustophittingme”

Ow - meant  _ pain _ , Dean thought.

Stop - meant discontinue.

Hit - meant the slap itself.

Clearly, the human didn’t like when Dean hit them...yet they kept exposing themselves again and again and again...and Dean kept slapping them.

As inexplicable as the interaction was, Dean couldn’t deny it was satisfying - alleviated some of his boredom, gave him ample opportunity to observe the human, helped him really begin to correlate some of the human’s language with their actions...the hand slapping was the most enjoyable thing that had happened to Dean in the however-the-hell-long-it-had-been since he was captured.

He had  _ no  _ idea why the human kept exposing themselves to being slapped, though.

_ Maybe they’re just a masochist… _

The human opened the tank lid and lowered in a roundish thing shaped vaguely like a shark.

Dean slapped their hand.

“Ow!”

The shark-thing squeaked.

_...how fun… _

A surprising jolt of pleasure burst to the tips of Dean’s hectocotyli. The human’s reaction to mild pain was delightful. The human’s bafflement at Dean’s behavior was hilarious. The human’s determination to keep trying was absurd. How far could Dean push them? How much would the human tolerate before they gave up? Dean had no idea, but he was intrigued to test and find out.

At least his incarceration was finally getting interesting...

* * *

“Have you eaten  _ anything _ since you got here?” The human - Dr. Castiel Novak, Dean had learned, apparently male - stood before the tank.

He’d never tired of Dean slapping his hand.

And Dean had never tired of slapping him.

And, over  _ months _ , Dean had finally pieced together most of what Novak was saying, understood him, related to him, maybe even...liked him...a little?

Ridiculous.

“I wish you could just tell me what you’d like to eat,” grumbled Novak.

Dean had never tried to communicate back. He shouldn’t, he told himself. He mustn’t, he told himself. Novak clearly had intimations that Dean was intelligent, but there was a world of difference between the human  _ suspecting  _ and Dean  _ confirming  _ those suspicions.

But.

Dean was bored.

And Dean was  _ hungry _ .

And Dean was so,  _ so  _ tired of being imprisoned.

Some of the other scientists were unpleasant, but Novak hadn’t pricked Dean since the first few days, and let Dean slap him a fuckton, and spoke to him like Dean could understand...the others treated Dean like a creature; Novak treated him like a curiosity. Still imbruting, but somehow endearing, if only by contrast.

“Like...if I held up a shrimp, and you could just go ‘nope,’ that would help.”

Fuck it.

Staying put and taking no chances wasn’t getting Dean anywhere. If he was going to risk  _ anything _ , he might as well risk it with Novak.

Dean knocked a tentacle against the wall of his tank.

“...or if we could run through different species of clams, and you could just - ‘no’--” 

Dean knocked the tank.

“--’no’--”

Dean knocked the tank.

“--’no’--”

Dean knocked the tank.

“--’yes, this one, this one is delicious!’”

Dean knocked the tank twice.

Novak’s jaw dropped.

“Did you just...no, that’s impossible…”

Dean knocked the tank.

“It’s just a new game - what, finally get sick of hitting me?” Novak bared his teeth; Dean had grown  _ fairly  _ certain that expression reflected pleasure, though why Dean slapping him repeatedly prompted pleasure remained a mystery.

Still.

They were getting somewhere.

Dean knocked the tank. He was  _ definitely  _ not sick of hitting Novak.

Lips downturning, Novak approached the tank and stood before it, watching. Nerves flared within Dean, shifting the colors of his skin through a panoply of browns and tans, none of which could possibly hide him in the tank.

“They’re all gonna say I’m crazy for this but...are you answering my questions?”

Two knocks.

“And this isn’t just a random coincidence?”

One knock.

“You understand what I’m saying?”

Two knocks.

“What the actual fuck.”

Dean raised his tentacles casually about himself.

“Did you just  _ shrug _ ?”

_ Is that what humans call it? _

“Fuck,” muttered Novak.

Dean knocked two drolly agreeing taps on the tank wall.

“That’s it - I’ve had it. When we had to sedate you to keep you from hurting yourself...fine, I figured, you’d get used to it with time. When you wouldn’t eat...fine, I figured, we’d keep trying things until you did. When you hit my hand...fine, I figured, we’re finally getting somewhere, at least you’re interacting. When you threw the shells at me...okay, that was actually pretty hilarious, especially now that I know...but you’re not just an animal. If you’re smart enough to understand me, to communicate back? I can’t do this anymore.”

With shocking speed, Novak opened the top of the tank. Frightened, Dean scurried to a bottom corner, seeking what sanctuary he could in distance. Novak plunged a hand into the tank, and Dean waited for the worst - a net to ensnare him, a prick to... _ sedate _ ...was the word Novak had used?...or another rancid piece of dead fish offered for him to eat. 

But Novak didn’t move.

And, word by word, Dean processed what Novak had said to him.

_ I wish I could ask you what you mean… _

“It’s okay,” Novak murmured, wiggling his fingers in the warm water. “I won’t hurt you.” Motes of pheromone and sweat and skin washed free, suffusing the gently drifting eddies with a unique flavor that Dean had come to recognize as Novak’s. 

“I’m so gonna get fired for this, but…”

Dean  _ liked  _ Novak’s smell.

“I want to free you.”

And Dean...Dean  _ believed  _ him.

“You’ll starve if you stay here - I can’t stand by and watch it happen.”

Dean must be crazy.

“I shouldn’t have even before, but now that I know...come on. Let’s get you out of here and back where you belong.”

Gushing a burst of bubbles out his gills...Dean accepted that he wouldn’t be any more screwed if something happened when he tried to leave than he was staying...and he swam up.

“There we go,” said Novak, baring his teeth as Dean wrapped tentacles about his arm and his suction cups gripped flesh. Novak was hot and strong; he hissed out a breath as he lifted his arm from the water and Dean clung to him. “Let’s get out of here.”

Squeezing his eyes shut, Dean did what he’d never done before: he  _ allowed _ himself to be taken. Air rushed around him, and his skin ached, and his insides burned. How long would they be? How long could he stay out of water? He’d never tested his limits before, but he had a feeling he was about to find out.

_ Still, he’d be dead either way… _

Instant upon instant passed; with each, Dean anticipated finally being submerged again, but it didn’t come - not when the temperature around him dropped, nor when it rose again, nor when the ambient brightness intensified, nor when wind scoured him. Novak kept up a running commentary, but there were too many words Dean didn’t know, and his existence was too focused on  _ breathe, need to breathe, need water, please, I’m dying, please, save me, please, Novak, please, please, please _ for him to process meaning in the human babbling.

“itakeitbackthisistheworstideaiveeverhadwhydidntigetabucket”

_ I’m not going to make it. _

“justalittlefarther”

_ It hurts. _

“holdonholdon”

_ Please, just let me d-- _

Ecstasy -  _ water _ enveloped Dean. Frantic, he inhaled deeply; salty currents swept through his gills and eased the strain in his tentacles. He breathed, and breathed, and breathed, and realized…

He was in the ocean.

He was still clinging to Novak’s arm.

He was alive.

He was  _ free _ .

He didn’t try to move for long minutes, reveling in the joys of the moment; only when he felt comfortable and safe did he finally poke his head out of the rippling surf. Novak sat in the waves, his clothing dark with absorbed water. His teeth were bared again.

“Hello,” Novak murmured. “Are you okay?”

Dean tapped his leg twice.

“You’re not just saying that?”  _ I’m not imagining this?  _ Dean thought he meant.

Dean tapped his leg once. No, Novak wasn’t imagining it. No, Dean wasn’t just randomly tapping. Yes, Dean was okay.

“Fuck…” Novak breathed. “I can’t believe you really…” Shaking his head, causing his fur to sweep about his ears, Novak slumped forward. “...that  _ I  _ really…”

Dean had no idea what Novak was getting at.

Dean had no idea what Novak’s tone of voice meant or how to interpret his facial expressions.

Humans were fucking  _ bizarre _ .

But…

Easing the hold of one of his tentacles, Dean extended it to brush over Novak’s face. Novak trembled, whooshing out a breath that stung at Dean’s exposed skin, and stared at him.

Novak’s skin was smooth.

Novak’s fur was soft.

Novak’s scent was pleasant.

Dean...might actually miss him.

_ Thank you. _

“You should go,” said Novak. “And I should go quit. I hated that job anyway. But, uh...maybe I could see you again sometime? We could talk?”

_ I can’t talk. _

But Dean tapped twice, and loosened his hold on Novak’s arm. Where his tentacles had suctioned, angry welts raised on Novak’s skin.

_ Ouch...sorry about that... _

“Okay - okay, yeah, I’ll check back.”

Withdrawing his tentacle from Novak’s face, Dean instead ran it instead over his mottled arm.

“Don’t worry, I’m fine.” Novak bared his teeth. “In fact, to tell you the truth - I know you won’t tell anyone - I kinda like it.”

Dean startled.

Novak  _ what _ ?

Curling the tentacle around an unmarked part of Novak’s wrist, Dean clung...and this time, he could spare attention for Novak’s reaction, and recognize the tremble of Novak’s flesh, the pinking of his cheeks, a shift in the soaked fabric of his clothing around his midsection, an intensifying of the Novak-y accents drifting flavorfully through the water.

Dean had no idea what any of that meant.

Dean was shocked by how curious he was to find out.

“So, if I come back tomorrow...you’ll be here?”

Withdrawing his hold on Novak’s arm, Dean emphatically slapped twice against Novak’s hand.

“Okay. Awesome. I. Uh. I look forward to it.”

And with obvious reluctance, Novak rose and made his dripping way up the beach toward a white building on the shore.

_ I have no idea what’s going on.  
_

_ But...I'm good with it... _

_...I'm good with him... _

_...we're all good... _

* * *

“Alright...I guess now’s the test to see if I’m actually crazy, or if...I mean...I know you’re not...but this is nuts. No one would believe me if I told them I actually... _ you  _ actually...really, I don’t deserve any credit, this is all you, and you’re so remarkable I can’t even--”

Dean silenced Novak’s babbling with a tentacle over his lips. They sat together amidst the sloshing waves, each barely in their own element. Though Novak spoke rapidly, his attention was focused on the sand before them, where the a receding line of water dissolved the shapes Novak had drawn into liquidy pits.

“You’re right. Sorry. I’m being ridiculous. I’m just excited. I have so many questions, and…” A flick of a tentacle against Novak’s cheek shushed him again. “Do you want to go over it one more time?”

One tap.

“Of course not...as smart as you are? You’ve probably been ready for a while. Do you want a stick, or…?”

One tap.

“Dumb question,” Novak muttered. “You’ve got tentacles - what do you need a stick for? But then, I’ve got fingers, and I still used a stick and--”

Dean flicked another tentacle against his cheek.

Novak’s lower clothing -  _ pants _ \- shifted about his midsection -  _ crotch _ \- and his pheromones suffused the wave that surged about them and obliterated the last traces of Novak’s drawing.

Oh, but Dean had grown to  _ love  _ Novak’s reactions to being struck, to being suctioned, to being  _ hurt _ . They’d spent enough time together, outside of the manufactured, surreal constraints of the prison, for Dean to have come to understand many of Novak’s humanisms. The correlation was unmistakable - when Dean caused Novak mild pain, Novak’s reaction was  _ arousal _ . 

Dean had no idea why that was tempting, but he wasn’t about to pretend it wasn’t.

“Sorry,” mumbled Novak. “Alright…” Novak closed his eyes, let out a long breath that dried Dean’s exposed skin unpleasantly, and then said, “what’s your name?”

Oh, fuck.

Across the dry season and the wet season and into the cooler time when the tree shed leaves to drift in the surf, Novak had used a stick or finger to spell out countless words, and Dean thought he more or less had it down - he could imitate the shapes Novak made fairly reliably, and thought he’d figured out which shapes correlated to which words - but trust Novak to start by asking him something that required taking everything Dean had learned and extrapolate it to a new application.

How the  _ fuck  _ was he supposed to make the shape of his name?

Bunching irritated tentacles about himself, Dean considered...and discarded his first idea...considered...and discarded his second idea...considered, and…

_ Okay...Novak said that furry four legged animal was a  _ dog _ , and that has the same sound as the start of my name, so… _

Dean wrote: D.

_...and he said the ocean was also called the sea… _

Dean wrote: E. A.

_...and the end of my name sounds like...like that sound in end...like part of island and ocean and anemone...crap, which one was that… _

Dean wrote: N, but hesitated, trying to decide if he needed to add another couple lines to the end.

“Dean?” asked Novak in utter bemusement. “Your name is  _ Dean _ ?”

_ Oh, wow, I actually got it right! _

Two taps.

“That’s it, I’ve lost my mind,” Novak announced, throwing his arms in the air. Disgruntled, Dean smacked his middle. Dean figured out how to fucking  _ spell _ and Novak thinks this is all about him all of a sudden? Talk about bullshit! Laughing, Novak tumbled back into the shallows, ignoring a surge that washed momentarily over his face. 

“How is it that every single thing you do ends up being the craziest thing that’s ever happened to me?” Novak demanded. “You smack me every time I interact...and I realize, it’s only me, and it doesn’t matter what I offer you...and I talk to you, and you respond like you understand...and I free you...and you  _ thank  _ me and say you want to see me again...and I get the whacko idea in my head of showing you letters...and you  _ figure out how to spell _ ...and so now I’m the first human to ever get to ask a question of an octopus and I get it in my head, hey, maybe the octopus has a name, and I can actually have something to  _ call  _ you...and your name turns out to be  _ Dean _ ? That. is. bonkers.”

Irate, Dean climbed onto Novak’s chest and glared down at him.  _ What are you on about? What’s wrong with my name? _

“Do you know  _ my  _ name?”

Flattening himself into a glower, Dean held up a tentacle and shaped - N - O - V - A - C.

“...close enough,” Novak allowed.

_ Yeah, close enough for the octopus that learned how to spell. Thanks for the consideration. _

“Is that really how you think of me?” 

A shrug - they’d established a few forms of body language, and one was that if Dean spread a couple tentacles wide apart and lifted the tips up, it meant uncertainty.  _ How was I supposed to think of you? _

“My friends call me Cas,” Novak explained.

Dean’s tentacles shaped - C - A - S.

“Yes, exactly,” beamed Nov...Cas. “God, Dean, I’m so impressed, I can’t even...you’re  _ incredible _ . Do you know that?

Oh, Dean liked calling Novak “Cas.” And he liked Cas saying “Dean.” And he liked Cas complimenting him.

And he liked...no, “like” conveyed far too little of what Dean thought of Cas, but the others that sprang to mind would never do...he liked Cas.

Very much.

So much.

“I have so many questions,” Cas murmured as another wave swept over them. Dark fur -  _ hair  _ \- drifted about Cas’ head, and Dean’s idling tentacles slid over Cas’ torso and about his legs. “Do you mind?”

One tap.

With a splash, Cas sat up. Dean slid into his lap - a lovely spot, one he’d thought about many times, and it proved as warm and pungent as he’d hoped. Dean settled into the pool of water that formed between Cas’ crossed legs, his tentacles rocking too and fro with each incoming and receding wave. There was hardness there Dean hadn’t expected, and he was surprised to find he longed to touch, to explore, to learn Cas’ body as well as time and acquaintance had led him to know Cas’ mind. Dean had no idea how such things worked for humans, though, and there seemed no way to ask -  _ would you like to mate  _ was a question far beyond Dean’s limited spelling capabilities - and so he repressed his desires and focused on Cas’ questions.

“Alright, first question, because I’ve  _ got  _ to know - what  _ do  _ you eat?”

Amused, Dean didn’t bother with spelling - he jumped from Cas’ lap, rolled over the beach to a nearby tidal pool, and emerged with his favorite kind of clam.

“Oh - how do you open it?”

And Dean showed him, and Cas asked another question, and Dean replied, and they went back and forth, using demonstration and body language and spelled words to have their first  _ true _ conversation. Cas’ enthusiasm was gorgeous; Dean curled in Cas’ lap, and wondered how the worst thing that had ever happened to him - being captured - had, somehow, turned into the best. He’d always had friends - he was far from the only octopus in the sea - but he’d also often been lonely. Few creatures were that intelligent. Humans were, he’d always known that, but he’d also always known that their intelligence was terrifying.

Except, apparently, it didn’t  _ always  _ make them terrifying.

Sometimes it made them  _ shockingly  _ tempting.

_ Caring about him like this...wanting him like this...thinking of him in these ways...that’s weird, right? He keeps joking that he’s crazy, but sometimes I feel crazy. What would my family say if they knew we’d become friends? If they knew I wished he was an octopus? If they learned that I wish he could live with me beneath the waves, and be with me always?  _

_ What would  _ he  _ say if he knew all that? _

_ Do I want to tell him? _

Yes, Dean realized - he did. He was really...kinda...sorta...pretty sure...that Cas liked him too.

_ Do I have the ability to tell him? _

_ Not even a little. _

Twilight painted the waves golden by the time Cas finally ran out of questions. Tide had come and gone, leaving them once again in the shallows, and the last thing Dean wanted to do was watch Cas leave.

“Well, it’s getting dark…”

But Cas would leave.

“...I should...I should probably go…”

Cas always left.

Raising a tentacle to wave a farewell, as he’d learned humans did, Dean was surprised when Cas reached out, twisted his wrist, and got Dean’s length about his lower arm. Suction cups clasped flesh instantly, and Cas huffed out one of those lovely, aroused breaths he so often answered Dean with when they were touched skin-on-skin. Heady pheromones filled the air, and Dean’s hectocotyli twitched.

“Dean, um…” Uncertainty soured Cas’ scent, and, worried, Dean reached out another limb to pat him reassuringly on the cheek. “...this is nuts…but he’s...you’re...” Cas leaned into the touch, then jerked his head away, and his scent grew more rank. “...okay. I know you’re a mature octopus. I know we’re different species. I know  _ exactly  _ how I sound when I say...no, I don’t, I have no idea what octopus culture is as it comes to...just about anything...fuck.” Raising his tentacle-wrapped hand to his forehead, Cas rubbed above one of his eyes. “Dean, do you know what a kiss is?”

One tap.

“Of course you don’t. Why would I think...um...so when two humans are fond of each other, they engage in intimacies...do you know what that means?”

Two taps.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to be condescending, but I also don’t want to assume…”

_ Cas - it’s okay, just talk to me like you always have _ . Dean tried to project patience and calm, even as anticipation and hope had him eager to hear what else Cas had to say. To him,  _ intimacies  _ implied  _ many  _ tempting possibilities, but it might mean something else to a human…

“...so, sometimes they - we? - kiss. We bring our mouths together, and we share in the sensation and the flavor and...you don’t exactly have a mouth? So a kiss might be weird - but we can discuss it if you want! - but for now, I was wondering if...if maybe you’d like to be at all intimate with me...and maybe...I could kiss one of your tentacles?”

_ Fuck  _ (tap) _. Yes.  _ (tap)

Smiling, Cas brought his arm to his mouth, and Dean’s tentacle trembled in anticipation. Cas’ mouth had always looked like a dream - a hot and wet cave, scented like Cas and bliss, safe and welcoming. Soft lips brushed over Dean’s sensitive skin, and even that gentle touch was beyond anything Dean had dreamed of. It felt  _ fantastic _ . Quivering, Dean arched his tentacle toward the contact, and Cas kissed him again, again, then stuck out his tongue, licked over the rising curve of Dean’s limb, stopped to suck at the tip--

\--and Dean surged up from the waves, unable to stop himself, pushing the tentacle towards Cas’ mouth. His suction cups caught at Cas’ lip, clung to his teeth, and Dean  _ basked  _ as feeling and  _ Cas, Cas, Cas _ flooded his awareness. A deep groan ripped from Cas’ chest, deep and reverberating, and Dean could hardly believe he’d ever hated that sound. Cas’ voice was glorious, his warmth splendid, his presence exquisite.

And Dean  _ did not  _ want him to leave.

“Dean - Dean, I--”

Desperation or worse tinged Cas’ voice and crashed reality back around Dean. Cas had asked for a kiss, and in return, Dean had...ashamed of himself, Dean tore himself free and slunk into the water, hiding beneath the waves. Only an eye peeked out and showed him Cas, breathing hard, running uncertain fingers over the welt that Dean’s suction had raised on his lip.

_ I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, Cas - I didn’t mean to h-- _

“Are you okay?” asked Cas, dropping to his knees in the wave. “Did I hurt you?”

_ Wait, he’s worried about  _ me _? _

Creeping forward, Dean reached out a hesitant tentacle; Cas took it, drew it to his face, nuzzled it, kissed it.

_ He’s not upset? _

Dean tapped Cas’ leg once. 

_ No, you didn’t hurt me. _

_ Did I hurt you? _

“I...um...can I say I really liked that?”

Two uncertain, hesitant taps.

_ Yeah, you can, but I’m still confused… _

“I did, Dean. I liked kissing you. I want to kiss you again. And...what you did with your arm, and my lips, I uh...I’d like to do that again, too...if you want…”

_ He really _ …

Astonished, pleased, Dean tapped two enthusiastic tentacles against Cas’ legs.

“You really...wow,” said Cas happily, his cheeks as red as the sunset painting the horizon behind him. “And I mean all of it, Dean - the...the sucking, and the touching, and suction, and the kissing, and...and more, if you want. Everything - I want you, all of you. If you...I mean...is that something you want?”

Two taps, and Dean caressed Cas’ cheek.

“...you really do…” Cas breathed. “Oh, Dean...I have to go, I do, I’m sorry - but I’ll be back. I swear I will be, as soon as I can, and then...I don’t even know...but I can’t wait to find out. Okay, Dean? Is that okay?”

Two more taps, and Dean brushed the tip of his tentacle over Cas’ lips.

_ It’s so much better than okay, Cas. _

“Soon…” promised Cas, ghosting sultry, tantalizing breath over Dean’s limb. “...so soon…”

_ It’s amazing, and I can’t wait. _

* * *

“Dean…” Cas groaned, mouth gaping wide. 

Unable to resist, Dean slid a tentacle between his lips and swallowed down the noises Cas made, the flavor of his spit and feel of the cavernous space within his mouth. Garbled noises enveloped Dean’s limb as his other tentacles stretched out - clinging to Cas’ chest, around Cas’ wrists, down Cas’ legs. They’d increasingly experimented with pleasuring each other of late, but this was the first time Cas was naked, the first time Dean could explore and taste and sample and experiment, and he was determined to learn every curve of Cas’ strange human body. Cas’ lips closed around Dean’s arm, sucking eagerly; Dean’s suction cups caught at Cas’ tongue and he undulated in Cas’ mouth, wiggling and squirming. Cas’ answering moan vibrated through Dean’s sensitive body, and Dean had never wished more that he was capable of vocalizing.

There was more - so much more - that they could do. Two of Dean’s tentacles found the small peeks of flesh on Cas’ chest - nipples, Cas had called them - and Cas’ back arched as Dean sucked them up, a cry suffocating in his chest. His twitches and jerks spoke of pain, but as another of Dean’s limb found Cas’ hectocotylus - he only had one, and it was called a penis apparently - Dean believed what Cas had told him.

When Dean clung to Cas, it hurt.

When Dean clung to Cas, Cas  _ loved  _ it.

Encircling hardness with a flexible limb, Dean recalled all Cas had told him, all they’d already tried, and he didn’t bother to stroke as he’d once watched Cas do to himself with his own hand. Instead, he tensed his suction cups - gripped - and then relaxed - gripped - and relaxed - gripped - and relaxed. Achingly human sounds burst from Cas as Dean worked, and Dean concentrated, coordinating his limbs, trying to keep his own desires at bay.

_...I can’t risk hurting him  _ too  _ much… _

_...but he likes the pain… _

_...I can’t risk losing control… _

_...but he wants me to use him… _

_...I can’t risk Cas… _

_...and it’s not risking Cas, to give him what he’s told me he craves. _

Torn, Dean drew back - loosened his grip on Cas’ check, relaxed his hold on Cas’ penis, pulled his tentacle from between Cas’ lips. Losing contact was a wrench, and pleasuring Cas -  _ and  _ paining Cas! - felt glorious - but if Cas wasn’t okay…

“No…” Cas moaned, straining up from amidst the lapping waves, mouth chasing Dean’s tentacle. “No, please…”  _ Was I right? Was that too much? Was he trying to tell me all along?  _ “...please don’t stop...please, Dean...need...need you…”

Possessiveness, raw and inherent, burgeoned within Dean, and he descended once more, eager and desperate. His tentacle thrust between Cas’ lips, in and out, in and out, grabbing at Cas’ tongue every time he sank deep. Another tentacle grabbed at Cas’ erection; Dean crawled up Cas’ chest and used his mouth and middle to tease at Cas’ stiff nipples, freeing two limbs to hold Cas’ arms, two more to grab his legs and spread them apart.

Cas had said,  _ “I need you inside me _ .”

Cas had demonstrated,  _ “this is how humans do it.” _

Cas had begged,  _ “please Dean, will you do that for me? Please don’t stop!” _

And Dean  _ needed  _ to be inside Cas, and  _ had  _ to thrust with his hectocotyli, and  _ craved  _ giving Cas what he wanted.

Limp, Cas let his body be manipulated - let Dean thrust into his mouth, let Dean stroke his penis, let Dean pull his legs apart wide - and strained gasps burst out around Dean’s thrusting tentacle as Dean snaked his two hectocotyli down Cas’ torso, along his thighs, around his backside, to tease at the entrance that Cas had shown him.

Cas’ eyes flew open, brilliant blue, gorgeous and sightless, and his cheeks bulged each time Dean’s tentacle filled his mouth. He was beautiful so used, beautiful so  _ Dean’s _ , and Dean had to…

...the tip of one hectocotylus pushed at Cas’ hole…

...Dean had to…

...suction cups clung to the the crease between Cas’ butt cheeks…

...Dean had to…

...a silent plea rose from Cas, desperation communicated with pheromones and body scent, and Dean  _ had  _ to fill him...and did. His hectocotylus slid easily Cas, his body already prepared for this, and Cas’ eyes bulged, his chest surging, his heels kicking at the sandy bottom of the shallows. He couldn’t get free, though - Dean had eight limbs, and he used them  _ all  _ to assert his dominance of this human who’d once had the presumption to capture him, imprison him, examine him. Desperate to feel, to possess, to give, to take, Dean thrust deep into Cas, and unbelievable pleasure washed through him, blanking his mind, tingling through every tentacle.

_ More _ , Cas’ scent  _ screamed _ .

And Dean...Dean couldn’t dream of denying Cas anything he craved so desperately.

Lost in sensation, lost in Cas, Dean surrendered to his own desires.

His tentacle fucked into Cas’ mouth, choking him, and Dean savored every gag.

His body suctioned Cas’ chest, teasing shudders and twitches of pain free, and Dean delighted in knowing he did that - Cas  _ let him  _ do that.

His hectocotylus sank deep into Cas’ body, and pulled out, sank in deep, pulled out, suckers catching on sensitive flesh.

Another of his tentacles tortured Cas’ penis, his suction cups clinging to the top to taste the liquids that Dean teased forth from him.

Cas’ ecstasy was visceral, palpable, spurred on by stimulation and pain, and Dean  _ devoured  _ him and still needed more. His second hectocotylus pushed at Cas’ hole, seeking entrance, stretching and tugging until he could fit them both. Cas squirmed and gasped and sobbed and took and took and took as Dean  _ claimed _ , leaving trails of sucker welts everywhere his limbs grabbed.

Dean had dreamed of having Cas.

The reality compared to those dreams as being in the ocean compared to being trapped in a Cas’ laboratory tank.

Time dilated into an eternity of thrusting and twisting and holding and owning. Always, there were pheromones and the flavor of Cas’ mingled ecstasy and agony to confirm that Dean seized nothing that Cas didn’t willingly offer. Always, there was more pleasure, more heat, more to touch. Always, Dean could strain more deeply, finding Cas’ throat, sinking hectocotyli farther into Cas’ body. Always, there was more, and more, and more--

\--and then with a howl that forced Dean’s tentacle from Cas’ mouth, Cas’ pleasure overcame him. Savory, exquisite release flooded Dean’s senses, and fabulous pressure squeezed the sensitive heads of the entwined limbs he fucked into Cas’ hole...and then Dean was spilling, flooding, inky sticky come surging out of his body in wave upon wave to squirt out around Dean’s filling hectocotyli, paint Cas’ skin, and stain the surrounding waters smoky.

Oh, but that was glorious - sublime -  _ everything _ .

Having sex with Cas, hurting Cas, pleasuring Cas, was  _ everything _ .

And being Cas’? Being the creature Cas chose? Was somehow  _ even more _ .

Replete and elated, Dean went limp, releasing his tentacles, and let the waves carrying him - carry them both.

“That was  _ incredible _ ,” rasped Cas, hoarse, his satisfaction obvious.

It was all Dean could do to lift one tentacle and tap out his two pokes of agreement.

“I love you so much, Dean…”

...and, after only a moment’s hesitation...two taps.

_ And I, you, Cas...so please…don’t leave again. I know it’s hard, that I need water, that you need air, but please… _

“...it’s getting dark...I have to…”

Weak from fatigue and afterglow, Dean slid two sinuous limbs down to grab Cas’ wrists, silently importuning -  _ stay, stay... _

“...I don’t understand…”

_...stay, stay… _

“...I shouldn’t stay the night on the beach...if I were caught…”

_...stay, stay... _

“...but...you really want me too…?”

_...stay... _ tap... _ stay _ ...tap...

“...I want to, too...to, too…”

...and, chuckling, Cas relaxed back amidst the waves.

“...never want to leave…”

Tap. Tap.

“...I’m so glad…”

And they lay in the shallows, arms and limbs tangled, bodies entwined, filling and filled, pleasured and pleased, together.

_...my human… _

“...oh, Dean…”

_...my Cas… _

“...gonna buy some land...build a house right here…”

_...stay with me, please, always… _

“...love you so much…”

_...and I swear, I’ll always,  _ always _ , be your Dean. _

“...and I’ll always be yours…”

_ I’ve never wanted anything more. _

_ And to think, where we started, how we met, that we’ve ended up here… _

_ I wouldn’t have you - wouldn’t have  _ us  _ \- any other way. _

Always,  _ always _ ,  _ together _ .

**Author's Note:**

> I have no idea where this came from but I'm not sorry. And here I thought Icarus' Fall would be the weird story I wrote this week...shows what I know...
> 
> Check me out on social media!  
> Tumblr: [unforth](https://unforth.tumblr.com/) (very multifandom with a decent amount of politics/social justice)  
> Twitter: [unforth](https://twitter.com/unforth) (mostly MDZS/CQL, with a splash of multifandom and also a decent amount of politics/social justice, cause sorry, them's the times)  
> Discord: unforth#6748


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